CHAPTER XLVIII
THE DOOMSCHEN
"I suppose," Mr. Sabin began, closing the door of the cabin behind him,"that I may take it--this episode--as an indication of your refusal toaccept the proposals I made to you?"
Mr. Watson did not immediately reply. He had seated himself on thecorner of a lounge and was leaning forward, his head resting moodilyupon his hands. His sallow face was paler even than usual, and hisexpression was sullen. He looked, as he undoubtedly was, in an evilhumour with himself and all things.
"It was not a matter of choice with me," he muttered. "Look out of yourwindow there and you will see that even here upon the ocean I am undersurveillance."
Mr. Sabin's eyes followed the man's forefinger. Far away across theocean he could see a dim green light almost upon the horizon. It was theGerman man-of-war.
"That is quite true," Mr. Sabin said. "I admit that there aredifficulties, but it seems to me that you have overlooked the crux ofthe whole matter. I have offered you enough to live on for the rest ofyour days, without ever returning to Europe. You know very well that youcan step off this ship arm-in-arm with me when we reach Boston, eventhough your man-of-war be alongside the dock. They could not touchyou--you could leave your--pardon me--not too honourable occupation onceand for ever. America is not the country in which one would choose tolive, but it has its resources--it can give you big game and charmingwomen. I have lived there and I know. It is not Europe, but it is thenext best thing. Come, you had better accept my terms!"
The man had listened without moving a muscle of his face. There wassomething almost pitiable in its white, sullen despair. Then his lipsparted.
"Would to God I could!" he moaned. "Would to God I had the power tolisten to you!"
Mr. Sabin flicked the ash off his cigarette and looked thoughtful. Hestroked his grey imperial and kept his eyes on his companion.
"The extradition laws," the other interrupted savagely.
Mr. Sabin shrugged his shoulders. "By all means," he murmured."Personally I have no interest in them; but if you would talk like areasonable man and tell me where your difficulty lies I might be able tohelp you."
The man who had called himself Watson raised his head slowly. Hisexpression remained altogether hopeless. He had the appearance of a mangiven wholly over to despair.
"Have you ever heard of the Doomschen?" he asked slowly.
Mr. Sabin shuddered. He became suddenly very grave. "You are not one ofthem?" he exclaimed.
The man bowed his head.
"I am one of those devils," he admitted.
Mr. Sabin rose to his feet and walked up and down the little room.
"Of course," he remarked, "that complicates matters, but there ought tobe a way out of it. Let me think for a moment."
The man on the lounge sat still with unchanging face. In his heart heknew that there was no way out of it. The chains which bound him weresuch as the hand of man had no power to destroy. The arm of his masterwas long. It had reached him here--it would reach him to the farthermostcorner of the world. Nor could Mr. Sabin for the moment see any light.The man was under perpetual sentence of death. There was no country inthe world which would not give him up, if called upon to do so.
"What you have told me," Mr. Sabin said, "explains, of course to acertain extent, your present indifference to my offers. But when I firstapproached you in this way you certainly led me to think----"
"That was before that cursed _Kaiser Wilhelm_ came up," Watsoninterrupted. "I had a plan--I might have made a rush for liberty at anyrate!"
"But surely you would have been marked down at Boston," Mr. Sabin said.
"The only friend I have in the world," the other said slowly, "is themanager of the Government's Secret Cable Office at Berlin. He was on myside. It would have given me a chance, but now"--he looked out of thewindow--"it is hopeless!"
Mr. Sabin resumed his chair and lit a fresh cigarette. He had thoughtthe matter out and began to see light.
"It is rather an awkward fix," he said, "but 'hopeless' is a word whichI do not understand. As regards our present dilemma I think that I seean excellent way out of it."
A momentary ray of hope flashed across the man's face. Then he shook hishead.
"It is not possible," he murmured.
Mr. Sabin smiled quietly.
"My friend," he said, "I perceive that you are a pessimist! You willfind yourself in a very short time a free man with the best of your lifebefore you. Take my advice. Whatever career you embark in do so in amore sanguine spirit. Difficulties to the man who faces them boldly losehalf their strength. But to proceed. You are one of those who are called'Doomschen.' That means, I believe, that you have committed a crimepunishable by death,--that you are on parole only so long as you remainin the service of the Secret Police of your country. That is so, is itnot?"
The man assented grimly. Mr. Sabin continued--
"If you were to abandon your present task and fail to offer satisfactoryexplanations--if you were to attempt to settle down in America, yourextradition, I presume, would at once be applied for. You would be givenno second chance."
"I should be shot without a moment's hesitation," Watson admittedgrimly.
"Exactly; and there is, I believe, another contingency. If you shouldsucceed in your present enterprise, which, I presume, is myextermination, you would obtain your freedom."
The man on the lounge nodded. A species of despair was upon him. Thisman was his master in all ways. He would be his master to the end.
"That brings us," Mr. Sabin continued, "to my proposition. I must admitthat the details I have not fully thought out yet, but that is a matterof only half an hour or so. I propose that you should kill me in BostonHarbour and escape to your man-of-war. They will, of course, refuse togive you up, and on your return to Germany you will receive yourfreedom."
"But--but you," Watson exclaimed, bewildered, "you don't want to bekilled, surely?"
"I do not intend to be--actually," Mr. Sabin explained. "Exactly how Iam going to manage it I can't tell you just now, but it will be quiteeasy. I shall be dead to the belief of everybody on board here exceptthe captain, and he will be our accomplice. I shall remain hidden untilyour _Kaiser Wilhelm_ has left, and when I do land in America--it shallnot be as Mr. Sabin."
Watson rose to his feet He was a transformed man. A sudden hope hadbrightened his face. His eyes were on fire.
"It is a wonderful scheme!" he exclaimed. "But the captain--surely hewill never consent to help?"
"On the contrary," Mr. Sabin answered, "he will do it for the asking.There is not a single difficulty which we cannot easily surmount."
"There is my companion," Watson remarked; "she will have to be reckonedwith."
"Leave her," Mr. Sabin said, "to me. I will undertake that she shall beon our side before many hours are passed. You had better go down to yourroom now. It is getting light and I want to rest."
Watson paused upon the threshold. He pointed in some embarrassment tothe table by the side of the bed.
"Is it any use," he murmured in a low tone, "saying that I am sorry forthis?"
"You only did--what--in a sense was your duty," Mr. Sabin answered. "Ibear no malice--especially since I escaped."
Watson closed the door and Mr. Sabin glanced at the bed. For a moment ortwo he hesitated, although the desire for sleep had gone by. Then hestepped out on to the deck and leaned thoughtfully over the whiterailing. Far away eastwards there were signs already of the coming day.A soft grey twilight rested upon the sea; darker and blacker the watersseemed just then by contrast with the lightening skies. A fresh breezewas blowing. There was no living thing within sight save that faintgreen light where the rolling sea touched the clouds. Mr. Sabin's eyesgrew fixed. A curious depression came over him in that half hour beforethe dawn when all emotion is quickened by that intense broodingstillness. He was passing, he felt, into perpetual exile. He who hadbeen so intimately in touch with the large things of the world had cometo that point when
after all he was bound to write his life down afailure. For its great desire was no nearer consummation. He had madehis grand effort and he had failed. He had been very near success. Hehad seen closely into the Promised Land. Perhaps it was such thoughts asthese which made his non-success the more bitter, and then, with theinstincts of a philosopher, he asked himself now, surrounded in fancy bythe fragments of his broken dreams, whether it had been worth while.That love of the beautiful and picturesque side of his country which hadbeen his first inspiration, which had been at the root of his passionatepatriotism, seemed just then in the grey moments of his despair so weaka thing. He had sacrificed so much to it--his whole life had beenmoulded and shaped to that one end. There had been other ways in whichhe might have found happiness. Was he growing morbid, he wondered,bitterly but unresistingly, that her face should suddenly float beforehis eyes. In fancy he could see her coming towards him there across thestill waters, the old brilliant smile upon her lips, the lovelight inher eyes, that calm disdain of all other men written so plainly on theface which should surely have been a queen's.
Mr. Sabin thought of those things which had passed, and he thought ofwhat was to come, and a moment of bitterness crept into his life whichhe knew must leave its mark for ever. His head drooped into his handsand remained buried there. Thus he stood until the first ray of sunlighttravelling across the water fell upon him, and he knew that morning hadcome. He crossed the deck, and entering his cabin closed the door.
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